Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Ramsey got the best of him before the couple said goodbye and headed out. Atwood glanced around, almost looking lost for a second, like he wasn’t sure quite what to do with himself. I’d been lucky enough to be with the Rush since my rookie year. I’d never had to be the new guy, coming in after the preseason on an already formed team, and considering he’d publicly come out when he got caught with a guy a few months ago, I figured things hadn’t been real easy on him. “I’ll walk out with you,” I told Atwood.
“Thanks,” he replied.
With my bag on my shoulder, the two of us made our way to the door. We didn’t talk for a moment, so I tried to think of something to say to engage with him. “You ready for our first game this weekend?”
“You know it.”
“Heard you’re a bit of a cocky SOB.” I mean, it was the truth. We might as well put it out there. That wasn’t unique in the NFL. Hell, I was a cocky SOB myself.
So is Patrick.
Motherfucker!
“Aren’t we all?” Atwood replied.
Yeah, I figured we would be alright. As long as he focused on football and didn’t get into trouble, there was no reason he wouldn’t be an asset to the team. Either way, he was better than Nance. “You got that right, man. What’s your number?” Atwood read off his digits to me, and I sent him a text so he would have mine.
We talked for another minute, me scrolling Instagram as we did. A photo popped up of Whitt with his arm around a beautiful redheaded woman, making my gut clench. Who the fuck was that?
Why do you care?
Atwood asked about getting some food, and I rumbled out a BS excuse, my brain still too occupied with pap photos of Patrick with someone who could be his fucking aunt for all I knew. Sure, a sexy aunt who was younger than him, but it was possible.
The second I was in my SUV, I pulled up Bougie in my text messages.
Me: You still savin’ that ass for me?
I hit Send with a smile, then tossed my cell to the passenger seat and drove toward Andre’s house, my little brother in the at-risk, youth program. We still tried to get together as much as possible. It was always enough, in my opinion, but being in the NFL didn’t always make everything easy.
Andre was waiting outside of his apartment when I pulled up. He jumped into the car with a wide smile and some books in his lap.
“I like the hair,” I told him. He had cornrows in, something I hadn’t seen him wear before.
“Thanks, man. How’s it going?”
We chatted a bit as I drove us to the restaurant. We were doing pizza, which was Andre’s favorite. It was the kind of place where you ordered at the counter, then sat down and waited for them to bring you the food. It wasn’t until we were at the table that I could finally ask him about himself. “How’s school?”
Andre rolled his eyes. “You know me. I’m the smartest in my grade. You don’t have to ask about that.”
“I know, but I also know learning is important to you, so I wanna hear about it. I wish I had been as smart as you at your age.”
Andre beamed, and damned if that didn’t hit me right in the chest. I loved doing this, loved being there in a kid’s life this way.
He rambled about engineering shit that was way over my head. I listened raptly, asking questions and making sure he knew his interests were important.
“I’m so proud of you. You’re going to do amazing things.”
“You’re in the NFL,” he countered.
“Yeah. And I’m damn proud of that, but what you can do is just as incredible, if not more.”
Spending time with Andre was the distraction I needed to keep my mind off waiting for a reply from a certain stubborn football player. We hung out for a little over an hour before I dropped Andre off at home with plans for when we would see each other again.
I was sitting on the couch watching ESPN almost two hours later when my phone finally buzzed on the cushion beside me.
I told myself I didn’t care who it was, but that didn’t explain why I picked my phone up too quickly to see Bougie on the screen.
I also told myself I didn’t care what he said, but if that was the case, why in the fuck was I already opening the message?
Bougie: I already told you, you’re not the only person with a cock.
He was lying. He had to be. Patrick wasn’t the guy to trust anyone with something like that. I’d known him long enough to see that. That didn’t stop the foreign riptide of possessiveness from pulling me out to sea and damn near downing me.